geffen gigayacht

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Gigayacht spotted in Portland Harbor attracts attention

by Ariana St Pierre , WGME

PORTLAND (WGME) -- A $400 million gigayacht floating in the Portland Harbor is turning heads.

According to the Press Herald, a yacht is typically at least 30 feet long, a superyacht is 80-100 feet long, a megayacht is 200 feet, and a gigayacht is over 300 feet long.

The yacht, named Rising Sun, is owned by billionaire entertainment mogul David Geffen, according to CBS News.

CBS News reports the boat's original owner, Oracle CEO Larry Ellison, sold Rising Sun to Geffen in 2010.

The Rising Sun reportedly has 82 rooms, including a gym, a basketball court, a wine cellar, a spa, and a movie theater, according to CBS News.

• Also read: 'It's amazing:' Nearly $70M middle school set to open in South Portland

It can reportedly accommodate up to 16 guests and 45 crew members.

Geffen’s gigayacht is the 20th largest in the world, according to the Press Herald.

It’s certainly an eye-catcher at five stories high and 453 feet long.

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Massive yacht turns heads along portland waterfront.

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Maine is known for its waterfront, and places like Portland are certainly no stranger to massive cruise ships and luxury yachts.

But a boat that has been docked in Portland for the last several days is certainly turning some heads.

The "Rising Sun" is owned by billionaire media mogul David Geffen. The so-called giga-yacht is one of the 20 largest yachts in the world.

It is 452 feet long, and five stories high with 82 rooms, a spa, a movie theater, a wine cellar and a full-sized basketball court. It staffs a crew of 45 people.

Many people have been heading to the Portland waterfront just to get a look.

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David Geffen's 82-Room Megayacht Docks in Portland, Maine

The picturesque harbor at Portland, Maine hosts a number of luxury cruise ships in the fall months, but rarely does a privately owned vessel of a similar stature grace its waters. Thus when the world’s 10th largest yacht, David Geffen’s 453-foot long Rising Sun  docked there recently, it caused quite a sensation. The five-story, 82-room yacht took up enough space for several smaller boats at the city’s Ocean Gateway International Marine Terminal. Originally commissioned by Oracle billionaire Larry Ellison from Germany's Lürssen shipyard in 2004, the yacht cost about $250 million to build. The Rising Sun features luxe accommodations for 12 people, in addition to 30 crew members, and features a gymnasium, spa, sauna, wine cellar, private cinema and basketball court that converts to a helipad. 

Geffen and Ellison were originally co-owners of the yacht before Geffen took full control of it in 2010. It it is the largest yacht in the world owned by a U.S. citizen. It is not known whether Geffen was on board the yacht when it arrived in Maine, but here’s where a few other billionaires docked their yachts recently: 

• Russian Billionaire Andrey Melnichenko brought the world’s “coolest” megayacht — a 390-foot, $400 million vessel designed by Philippe Starck and dubbed the A  — to Auckland, New Zealand.
• Russian oligarch Roman Abramovich brought the 536-foot  Eclipse , the second largest yacht in the world which cost around $800 million, to the southern Croatian island of Mljet.
• Microsoft billionaire Paul Allen arrived in Iceland aboard the 414-foot Octopus , the 13th largest yacht and the largest expedition yacht in the world.

Jared Paul Stern

Jared Paul Stern, JustLuxe's Editor-at-Large, is the Executive Editor of Maxim magazine and has written for the Wall Street Journal, New York Times, the New York Times' T magazine, GQ, WWD, Vogue, New York magazine, Details, Hamptons magazine, Playboy, BlackBook, the New York Post, Man of the World, and Bergdorf Goodman magazine among others. The founding editor of the Page Six magazine, he has al... (Read More)

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Gigayacht arrives in Portland Harbor

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A $400 million gigayacht floating in the Portland Harbor is turning heads.

A yacht is typically at least 30 feet long, a superyacht is 80 to 100 feet long, a megayacht is 200 feet and a gigayacht is more than 300 feet long, according to the Portland Press Herald .

The vessel is owned by entertainment mogul David Geffen, the Press Herald reported.

The yacht, named Rising Sun, has 82 rooms, including a gym, wine cellar, spa and movie theater, according to the Press Herald. It can accommodate up to 16 guests and 45 crew members.

Geffen’s gigayacht is the 20th largest in the world, according to the Press Herald.

It’s certainly an eye-catcher at five stories high and 453 feet long.

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Letter to the editor: Counterpoint on the Geffen gigayacht

Negative coverage of the mogul’s visit to Portland overlooked his philanthropy, his vessel’s beauty and his accomplishments in the world of entertainment.

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The Aug. 23 front-page article “Lavish and looming, gigayacht bobbing in Portland Harbor attracts curiosity and contempt” was extremely unwelcoming and cold to owner David Geffen, his crew and guests he may have aboard.

My husband and I walked along the Eastern Promenade and viewed Geffen’s amazing yacht. It was a sight to behold and looked even more beautiful at night, lit up like a city on the water. Wish we had been interviewed by the reporter who wrote the article and quoted only negative responses from onlookers: “It’s not interesting, it’s too blah,” for one. We would have said how majestic and stately it is, and how nice it is for this business magnate, who could travel anywhere in the world, to visit Portland.

We all enjoy the music Geffen has produced for artists such as the Eagles, Cher, Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Donna Summer, to name a few. Also, Geffen is known for his philanthropy. He has given copious amounts of money to UCLA’s nonprofit Geffen Playhouse theater company, the David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA, Yale School of Drama and New York City’s Lincoln Center, to name a few of his recipients.

My husband and I welcome David Geffen back and hope he has a wonderful visit in Portland. We also hope the negative Press Herald article will not convince him to never return.

Sally Connolly South Portland

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Who Owns the $400M 82-Room Gigayacht Floating in This Maine Harbor?

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We're no strangers here in Maine to seeing the ultra-wealthy dock their massive floating mansions on the docks at one of hundreds are amazingly beautiful ports. Even though we're used to it, it's still remarkable when a yacht of THIS size shows up.

According to many people on Facebook, Instagram and even WGME, a gigayacht has docked in Portland. Now, to be fair, I had no idea what a gigayacht even was until I read a little further into it.

The Portland Press Herald explained in part that "a yacht is typically at least 30 feet long, a superyacht is 80-100 feet long, a megayacht is 200 feet, and a gigayacht is over 300 feet long."

The yacht, currently docked in Portland Harbor, is a whopping 453 feet in length, WGME reported , and is run by a crew of 45 people and features at least half a dozen decks, has a built-in wine cellar, movie theater, fitness gym and is equipped with more than 82 rooms.

But, how how does a yacht of this size COST? I mean, it has to be a few thousand bucks, right?

In fact, this astonishing piece of nautical equipment cost a staggering $400+ million to build, according to WGME.

Who has that kind of money and the desire to build such a floating palace? None other than David Geffen.

But who the heck is David Geffen?

According to Forbes , Geffen is the cofounder of Dreamworks Animation and "the founder of record labels Asylum Records, Geffen Records and DGC Records."

Forbes states that as of August 2023, he's worth over $7 billion. With a B.

For a little more insight into just how LAVISH this sailing paradise is, check out this YouTube video we came across that provides even more info (and pictures!) of this epic gigayacht.

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Inside The Rising Sun: David Geffen's $590 Million Superyacht

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Blake lively's net worth: how the gossip girl star built her wealth, the captain's loot: johnny depp net worth, quick links, details of the yacht, interior and exterior details, the rising sun’s onboard comfort and entertainment.

Billionaire and entertainment mogul David Geffen reportedly purchased the superyacht for $590 million from the Oracle founder Larry Ellison. It was reported that wealthy people love spending money on yachts, and about 88% of the luxury market can be associated to spending on yachts. For this reason, it is not at all surprising that billionaires are spending so much money buying yachts . Yachts can be considered as the pinnacle of luxury and decadence and about $22 billion annually are spent on Yachts by the wealthy people. The Rising Sun has hosted numerous famous celebrities including American talk show host Oprah Winfrey and Academy Award winner Leonardo DiCaprio on board and even Amazon founder Jeff Bezos was seen hanging out in the superyacht.

Geffen has cruised everywhere using the Superyacht from St. Bart's in the Caribbean to Portofino to Italy and even Ibiza, Spain. He loves travelling using his yacht but not without his friends and some high profile celebrities. Among the guests in his massive yacht are Julia Roberts, Maria Shriver, Steven Spielberg, JJ Abrams, Karlie Kloss, Peter Harrington-Cressman, Paul McCartney and even Michelle and Barack Obama. Take a look inside the majestic yacht of Geffen.

RELATED:  Inside The Flying Fox: Jeff Bezos' $400 Million Mega Yacht

https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/205054589254118565/

The Rising Sun is a motor yacht which was designed by Jon Bannenberg and was built and constructed in 2004 by German shipbuilder Lürssen. The yacht reportedly costs $200 million to build. The yacht was built at Lürssen’s Bremen shipyard for the founder and CEO of Oracle Corporation, Larry Ellison. It was delivered to Ellison in June 2004. Since 2010, David Geffen has owned the yacht. Geffen bought half of the share of the 454-foot megayacht in 2007 and decided to buy the yacht in full in 2010 which totaled his payment for $590 million. The exact estimated value of the yacht is still unclear but as of 2019, the yacht was valued for $300 million. After Geffen bought it, he had the yacht refitted in the period of just six months.

The motor yacht has a tonnage of 7,841 GT and has a length of 138 m that is about 452 ft 9 in. It utilizes the installed power of the diesel engine of 4 × MTU 20V 8000 M90 with 36,000 kW. It also has 4 propellers as its propulsion and has the speed of 28 knots that can comfortably run at the speed of 26 knots but can run at the maximum speed of 30 knots. It was built with steel hull and an aluminum superstructure that includes a teak deck. It also features an anchor stabilizer which provides the people on board an exceptional comfort. Unlike some other luxury yachts, the Rising Sun is not available for private charter.

https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/532058143448158436/

The superyacht has about eighty two rooms and has the ability to accommodate about 18 guests and 55 staff and crew members. The eighteen guests can comfortably stay in the nine suites at the yacht which can ensure a relaxed luxury yacht experience . The massive yacht even has a basketball court on board. The top deck is entirely dedicated to the owner which includes a double-height cinema. Aside from the basketball court, there is also a wine cellar and a movie theater which can be found among the eighty two rooms of the yacht.

The interior design of the yacht was designed by design house Seccombe Design. The exterior design on the other hand was designed by Bannenberg & Rowell and was refitted in 2011 after David Geffen has requested for it. The builders of the Rising Sun have experimented with the extensive use of some structural glass that gives off a clean and stripped-down profile for the yacht. This includes the builders extensively working on the engineering and systems of the yacht. The exposure of the yacht’s structure is one of the overarching themes in the superyacht’s design.

https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/400961173065183662/

There is a reason why a lot of famous celebrities and public figure enjoy hanging out at the superyacht. For the added comfort and entertainment, there is a sauna, underwater lights, beauty salon, elevator and gym at the superyacht. It offers the luxuries of the land space on a secluded area which gives them the privacy that they need. The general arrangement of the layout of the Rising Sun has given the guests spacious cabins which have a direct access to the exterior side decks of the yacht. With the use of the 45-degree indents in the yacht’s superstructure, the guests are also protected from the weather.

The yacht has so much space that the guests can roam around and just party. The top deck was designed entirely for the owner’s entertainment. The guests can also enjoy the double-height cinema which was embedded just like the stone of the avocado.

READ NEXT:  Inside SYMPHONY: Bernard Arnault's $150 Million Yacht

Sources: Business Insider , Luxury Launches , Yacht Charter Fleet , Boat International

Billionaire David Geffen's yacht makes refueling stop in New Bedford

Sea fuels marine has branched out to refueling large vessels in the city.

NEW BEDFORD — The Whaling City played host to one of the most luxurious privately owned vessels in the world Thursday morning.

Rising Sun, a 454-foot superyacht partly owned by billionaire American business magnate and Hollywood film executive David Geffen, made a refueling stop in New Bedford Harbor, docking at the Marine and Commerce Terminal.

The superyacht, which a March 2020 Forbes Magazine article lists at $570 million, needed to fill up on nearly 70,000 gallons of fuel through New Bedford-based Sea Fuels Marine. The Standard-Times could not confirm if Geffen -- the legendary founder of Asylum and Geffen Records and DreamWorks and Geffen Film Company — was aboard Rising Sun during the time of the stop or the superyacht’s destination.

Sea Fuels Marine CEO Jon Liarkos said the owners did not want to risk scratching the luxury ship by having a refueling barge dock alongside it, the typical method of refueling large commercial and private vessels, so instead opted to dock at the New Bedford Marine and Commerce Terminal.

“Every vessel is different. It depends on how much (fuel) they’re going to take and how they want to take it. We have a fuel barge in the harbor, but this particular ship did not want a barge coming alongside it. Not a big deal. So, I hired a company to haul the fuel for me and then we bring the trucks in and pump it from land,” Liarkos said, before going on to explain the challenges of just getting the superyacht docked.

“It’s a challenge. They bring in a pilot. They pick him up over in Buzzards Bay and the pilot actually brings it in through the hurricane barrier because he knows the currents, he knows the wind, he knows the depth, the width, the whole bit. But, this is nothing for a good pilot.”

Liarkos said his Sea Fuels Marine has made an effort to bid out for refueling large vessels, like Rising Sun, pitching the convenience of stopping in New Bedford for refueling and other marine needs. He explained that it saves time on long excursions to stop at the Whaling City, rather than refueling in Nantucket or Boston.

“Well, she came in through one of the brokers that I do business with. Over the last 10 years we’ve built up really good relationships with brokers all over the world, so we have a really good name in the industry in New Bedford and it’s a great port to come into,” Liarkos explained.

“The biggest business we have is the fishing industry, but over the years, you have to look for other opportunities to do business. But, as the fishing industry is our mainstay, we also want to build up the harbor for things like this. I’ve had 150- to 200-foot vessels come in and they’ll dock over at Pope’s Island Marina or someplace like that, really nice vessels, and they’ll get off the boat and walk around. They’ll go to the restaurants; they’ll walk into downtown New Bedford and take a look at the sights.”

Liarkos added that with an order as large as 70,000 gallons, he had to contract Diesel Direct of Providence to transport the fuel to the terminal in New Bedford. He said it takes roughly five hours for multiple fueling trucks to fill the superyacht.

Forbes Magazine also reported that in the 13 years Geffen has sailed the vessel, he’s been joined by the likes of Oprah, Jeff Bezos, Barack and Michelle Obama, Lloyd Blankfein and Tom Hanks.

In March of 2020, TMZ reported that the 77-year-old billionaire had taken heat on social media after posting a picture of the superyacht sailing into the sunset with a caption reading, "Isolated in the Grenadines avoiding the virus. I'm hoping everybody is staying safe."

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Rising Sun's refit at Lürssen shipyard

Last Friday the first pictures of the 138m Rising Sun , since the beginning of her refit in October, were taken. As readers know, Larry Ellison shared the ownership of this gigayacht with media mogul David Geffen for almost four years, but Geffen became sole owner of her at the end of 2010. Following this

sale, Rising Sun was back at her native shipyard for refit, at the Lürssen yard in Bremen where she was launched in 2005. As usual with this German yard, no details were released, but we can already spot some modifications from outside.

First Rising Sun has had a full paint job. There is now a new colour scheme for the technical area around the mast and the various domes, all painted in the same metallic grey as the mast. Another main point is the aft deck. The roof above the main deck was lengthened to follow the same design as the two other upper aft decks. No more basketball games are possible now. Note also that the name Rising Sun is removed from the hull. Maybe the yacht will be renamed before the end of this refit, scheduled for very soon.

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A Closer Look at the $200 Million Rising Sun Superyacht

There are a few different categories of yachts in the world. As a yacht enthusiast you might hear a few different terms being thrown around in the descriptions, such as Super yacht up to 100 feet in length or Mega yacht up to 300 feet. These are the larger water craft and there is even a giga yacht which are those that are over 300 feet in length. With this in mind, the Rising Sun, which is often referred to as a Super yacht far exceeds the parameters set for the classification, so if we’re going to be particular about the classification, we’d call it a Giga yacht. However it’s categorized, the Rising Sun is one of the most amazing private yachts afloat and we’re going to take a closer look at the features which make this multi-million dollar ship so special.

Rising Sun Yacht built by Lurssen: A Celebrity Choice

This yacht has hosted some of the most celebrated personalities in the film and record industry as well as the political arena. Barack and Michelle Obama were seen vacationing on the Rising Sun in 2017, and it’s also hosted Hollywood stars including Oprah Winfrey , Julia Roberts , Leonardo DeCaprio, Tom Hanks and others. The co-founder of Dreamworks, film producer and record executive David Geffen is the owner of the Rising Sun, which ranks as the 9th largest yacht in the world, currently. Depending on which source you consult, the cost to build this giant is estimated to be $200 million and some have it as high as $400 million but we believe that the base cost was the latter and the extra figures come from upgrades .

The history of the Rising Sun

The Rising Sun is the commissioned craft of its first owner Larry Ellison, who partnered with David Geffen and is the current CEO of the Oracle Corporation. He ordered the building of the ship from the German shipbuilding company Lürssen . The Rising Sun is the design of Jon Bannenberg, who has since passed away. The ship was delivered to Mr. Ellison in 2004, who shared ownership with David Geffen until 2010, when he decided that it was too large, so he sold his share to Geffen, who is now the sole owner of the yacht and Ellison bought a smaller yacht.

Specifications and details

The Rising Sun yacht is constructed of a strong aluminum superstructure with a displacement steel hull and teak decks, in accordance with Germanischer Lloyd classification society rules. The ship requires 4 MTU 12,061 horsepower diesel engines to propel it though the water. The average cruising speed is 26 knots and the top speed of the ship is 30 knots. To make the yacht more comfortable and safe in rough waters, it is fitted with zero speed stabilizers for times when she is at anchor. The Rising Sun measures 453.97 ft in length with a 62.34 ft beam, a draft of 16.08 ft and gross tonnage of 7841 tons. The exterior was designed by Bannenberg & Rowel and the interior by Seccombe Design. It was built by Lurssen and refit in 2004 and 2011. At the time of the sale it was the 6th largest yacht in the world, but other new superyachts have displaced it to the 9th position.

Luxury amenities

It takes a crew of 45 to maintain and operate this massive vessel and they are housed in 30 cabins. The guests are housed in 8 cabins which can accommodate between 16 and 18 guests comfortably. The yacht has been designed with more than 8,000m² of living space, allowing for larger gathering areas as well as plenty of places to find privacy from the crowd of guests. There are a total of five decks with 82 rooms aboard the yacht. Some of the luxury amenities include a spa and gym so guests don’t need to miss out on their daily workout routines. The Rising Sun is also quipped with a lift/elevator to take guests between the five decks. For practicality so guests/owners can come and go from any location, there is also a helipad on board. For fun in the sun there is a swimming pool as well as underwater lights for excellent illumination, and a sauna for relaxation. The ship also features air conditioning throughout the 82 rooms so guests can achieve the optimal room temperatures, even on hot days at sea, and there is also a Tender Garage, as well as a Cinema large enough to accommodate all guests for entertainment.

Final thoughts

The Rising Sun has only had two owners since it was built in 2004. Co-owners Larry Ellison and David Geffen shared it for a period of time, then Ellison sold his share to Geffen who is now the sole owner. The yacht was once the sixth largest yacht in the world, but is still considered a wonder coming in at ninth place. It’s packed to the hilt with luxury amenities and there is plenty of space aboard with five decks and 82 rooms. The ship which cost $200 million to build is now valued somewhere between $3 and $4 million, and it has only increased in value with the passage of time and no doubt numerous upgrades to suit the preferences of the owner. It’s served as the vessel that provides a source of recreation for some of the most famous people in the world including some of our most beloved Hollywood stars and even a former president and first lady. The Rising Sun is truly one of the most magnificent yachts that has ever been created, and those who are fortunate enough to be invited on board are in for a top notch luxury experience.

Dana has extensive professional writing experience including technical and report writing, informational articles, persuasive articles, contrast and comparison, grant applications, and advertisement. She also enjoys creative writing, content writing on nearly any topic (particularly business and lifestyle), because as a lifelong learner, she loves to do research and possess a high skill level in this area. Her academic degrees include AA social Sci/BA English/MEd Adult Ed & Community & Human Resource Development and ABD in PhD studies in Indust & Org Psychology.

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Whooping Cough Is Coming Back

Cases dropped during the pandemic, but are now climbing once more. Here’s what to know.

By Dani Blum

After a yearslong lull thanks to Covid-19 precautions like isolation and distancing, whooping cough cases are now climbing back to levels seen before the pandemic, according to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

So far this year, there have been 10,865 cases of whooping cough, or pertussis, nationwide. That’s more than triple the number of cases documented by this time last year, and is also higher than what was seen at this time in 2019. Doctors say these estimates are most likely an undercount, as many people may not realize they have whooping cough and therefore are never tested.

The pandemic delayed routine childhood vaccinations , including those that protect against whooping cough, and led to fewer pregnant women getting vaccinated. Those factors have likely contributed to the current uptick in cases, said Dr. William Schaffner, an infectious disease specialist at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. Pertussis cases tend to peak in the summer and fall, he said, and so it’s particularly critical to be aware of the disease now, as children head back to school and respiratory illnesses pick up.

What are the symptoms?

The disease can cause sneezing, a runny nose, fever, watery eyes and fierce fits of coughing. Occasionally, these coughing spells can restrict breathing so intensely that people’s lips, tongues and nailbeds can turn blue from lack of oxygen.

Ideally, people would get tested when their symptoms are mild and they haven’t developed a cough, but it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish between run-of-the-mill sniffles and the start of pertussis, said Dr. Aaron Milstone, a pediatric infectious disease specialist at the Johns Hopkins Children’s Center.

“Adults are having pertussis all the time, but they’re not being recognized as pertussis,” said Dr. James Cherry, a distinguished professor of pediatrics at the David Geffen School of Medicine at U.C.L.A. who has studied whooping cough. “Only a very small percentage of them ever get diagnosed.”

Doctors can take nasal swabs and run lab tests to diagnose the condition.

Infants are most at risk for getting seriously sick, particularly in their first months. They gasp for breath — the telltale “whoop ” — between fits of coughing. Adults can also develop a violent cough that can come on “while you’re eating, while you’re sleeping,” Dr. Schaffner said. In severe cases, he said, people can faint from struggling to breathe or break ribs from coughing so intensely.

How does it spread?

Pertussis spreads easily when infected people sneeze or cough, and those around them breathe in tiny particles that contain bacteria. “Cough etiquette is just such a fundamental,” Dr. Milstone said. Cover your mouth when you cough or sneeze, and, because contaminated droplets can land on surfaces, wash your hands frequently.

People can be contagious for around a day before their symptoms start, and for up to three weeks after they start coughing, he said.

How do you treat whooping cough?

Doctors typically prescribe antibiotics, but people need to take them in the first three weeks of an infection. Antibiotics might shorten symptoms if people take the medication before a cough starts. But once you have a cough, “treatment doesn’t actually make that cough go away any faster,” Dr. Milstone said. “But it makes you contagious for a lot less time.”

People who get seriously sick from whooping cough may end up in the hospital, but most people can manage symptoms at home. Doctors often recommend people drink plenty of fluids to avoid becoming dehydrated, and use a humidifier to loosen mucus and ease coughs.

Pertussis is sometimes referred to as “the hundred-day cough” — and doctors say there’s some truth to that name. Even with treatment, symptoms can persist for weeks or even months.

“This is one where prevention really is worth a whole lot more than treatment,” Dr. Schaffner said.

How can you protect yourself?

The vaccines that protect against pertussis also protect against diphtheria and tetanus. The shots are widely considered safe and effective. Among children who have received all their doses on schedule, 98 percent are fully protected from pertussis a year after their last shot, and around 71 percent are fully protected five years after their last dose.

Health officials recommend women be vaccinated during every pregnancy. The vaccine produces antibodies that are transferred to the fetus ; this will protect newborns before they are old enough to get their first dose as part of routine vaccinations, at 2 months old. “By vaccinating pregnant women, you can prevent virtually all deaths from pertussis,” Dr. Cherry said. Research shows vaccination during pregnancy prevents roughly 78 percent of pertussis cases and about 90 percent of hospitalizations in infants younger than 2 months.

Anyone who is around a newborn — grandparents, babysitters, nannies — should be up-to-date on their vaccination, said Dr. Sean O’Leary, a professor of pediatrics-infectious diseases at the University of Colorado School of Medicine.

The C.D.C. recommends additional doses throughout early childhood, with five doses total by age 6, as well as a booster dose starting at age 11.

Adults 19 and older should get another shot every 10 years, health officials say. Technically, this can be a shot that protects against tetanus, diphtheria and pertussis, or a shot that just protects against tetanus and diphtheria. But Dr. Milstone said he recommended getting the shot that protects against all three, to minimize the risk of getting sick with whooping cough or spreading the disease to vulnerable infants.

Immunity wanes over time, with some estimates showing that the vaccines become less effective after a few years .

If you’re not sure if you’ve been vaccinated, or how long it’s been since your last vaccine, ask your health provider or try checking local or regional immunization registries , which keep records of some shots.

If you are an adult who has never been vaccinated, the C.D.C. says you should get a dose as soon as possible.

Dani Blum is a health reporter for The Times. More about Dani Blum

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The Haves and the Have-Yachts

In the Victorian era, it was said that the length of a man’s boat, in feet, should match his age, in years. The Victorians would have had some questions at the fortieth annual Palm Beach International Boat Show, which convened this March on Florida’s Gold Coast. A typical offering: a two-hundred-and-three-foot superyacht named Sea Owl, selling secondhand for ninety million dollars. The owner, Robert Mercer, the hedge-fund tycoon and Republican donor, was throwing in furniture and accessories, including several auxiliary boats, a Steinway piano, a variety of frescoes, and a security system that requires fingerprint recognition. Nevertheless, Mercer’s package was a modest one; the largest superyachts are more than five hundred feet, on a scale with naval destroyers, and cost six or seven times what he was asking.

For the small, tight-lipped community around the world’s biggest yachts, the Palm Beach show has the promising air of spring training. On the cusp of the summer season, it affords brokers and builders and owners (or attendants from their family offices) a chance to huddle over the latest merchandise and to gather intelligence: Who’s getting in? Who’s getting out? And, most pressingly, who’s ogling a bigger boat?

On the docks, brokers parse the crowd according to a taxonomy of potential. Guests asking for tours face a gantlet of greeters, trained to distinguish “superrich clients” from “ineligible visitors,” in the words of Emma Spence, a former greeter at the Palm Beach show. Spence looked for promising clues (the right shoes, jewelry, pets) as well as for red flags (cameras, ornate business cards, clothes with pop-culture references). For greeters from elsewhere, Palm Beach is a challenging assignment. Unlike in Europe, where money can still produce some visible tells—Hunter Wellies, a Barbour jacket—the habits of wealth in Florida offer little that’s reliable. One colleague resorted to binoculars, to spot a passerby with a hundred-thousand-dollar watch. According to Spence, people judged to have insufficient buying power are quietly marked for “dissuasion.”

For the uninitiated, a pleasure boat the length of a football field can be bewildering. Andy Cohen, the talk-show host, recalled his first visit to a superyacht owned by the media mogul Barry Diller: “I was like the Beverly Hillbillies.” The boats have grown so vast that some owners place unique works of art outside the elevator on each deck, so that lost guests don’t barge into the wrong stateroom.

At the Palm Beach show, I lingered in front of a gracious vessel called Namasté, until I was dissuaded by a wooden placard: “Private yacht, no boarding, no paparazzi.” In a nearby berth was a two-hundred-and-eighty-foot superyacht called Bold, which was styled like a warship, with its own helicopter hangar, three Sea-Doos, two sailboats, and a color scheme of gunmetal gray. The rugged look is a trend; “explorer” vessels, equipped to handle remote journeys, are the sport-utility vehicles of yachting.

If you hail from the realm of ineligible visitors, you may not be aware that we are living through the “greatest boom in the yacht business that’s ever existed,” as Bob Denison—whose firm, Denison Yachting, is one of the world’s largest brokers—told me. “Every broker, every builder, up and down the docks, is having some of the best years they’ve ever experienced.” In 2021, the industry sold a record eight hundred and eighty-seven superyachts worldwide, nearly twice the previous year’s total. With more than a thousand new superyachts on order, shipyards are so backed up that clients unaccustomed to being told no have been shunted to waiting lists.

One reason for the increased demand for yachts is the pandemic. Some buyers invoke social distancing; others, an existential awakening. John Staluppi, of Palm Beach Gardens, who made a fortune from car dealerships, is looking to upgrade from his current, sixty-million-dollar yacht. “When you’re forty or fifty years old, you say, ‘I’ve got plenty of time,’ ” he told me. But, at seventy-five, he is ready to throw in an extra fifteen million if it will spare him three years of waiting. “Is your life worth five million dollars a year? I think so,” he said. A deeper reason for the demand is the widening imbalance of wealth. Since 1990, the United States’ supply of billionaires has increased from sixty-six to more than seven hundred, even as the median hourly wage has risen only twenty per cent. In that time, the number of truly giant yachts—those longer than two hundred and fifty feet—has climbed from less than ten to more than a hundred and seventy. Raphael Sauleau, the C.E.O. of Fraser Yachts, told me bluntly, “ COVID and wealth—a perfect storm for us.”

And yet the marina in Palm Beach was thrumming with anxiety. Ever since the Russian President, Vladimir Putin, launched his assault on Ukraine, the superyacht world has come under scrutiny. At a port in Spain, a Ukrainian engineer named Taras Ostapchuk, working aboard a ship that he said was owned by a Russian arms dealer, threw open the sea valves and tried to sink it to the bottom of the harbor. Under arrest, he told a judge, “I would do it again.” Then he returned to Ukraine and joined the military. Western allies, in the hope of pressuring Putin to withdraw, have sought to cut off Russian oligarchs from businesses and luxuries abroad. “We are coming for your ill-begotten gains,” President Joe Biden declared, in his State of the Union address.

Nobody can say precisely how many of Putin’s associates own superyachts—known to professionals as “white boats”—because the white-boat world is notoriously opaque. Owners tend to hide behind shell companies, registered in obscure tax havens, attended by private bankers and lawyers. But, with unusual alacrity, authorities have used subpoenas and police powers to freeze boats suspected of having links to the Russian élite. In Spain, the government detained a hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar yacht associated with Sergei Chemezov, the head of the conglomerate Rostec, whose bond with Putin reaches back to their time as K.G.B. officers in East Germany. (As in many cases, the boat is not registered to Chemezov; the official owner is a shell company connected to his stepdaughter, a teacher whose salary is likely about twenty-two hundred dollars a month.) In Germany, authorities impounded the world’s most voluminous yacht, Dilbar, for its ties to the mining-and-telecom tycoon Alisher Usmanov. And in Italy police have grabbed a veritable armada, including a boat owned by one of Russia’s richest men, Alexei Mordashov, and a colossus suspected of belonging to Putin himself, the four-hundred-and-fifty-nine-foot Scheherazade.

In Palm Beach, the yachting community worried that the same scrutiny might be applied to them. “Say your superyacht is in Asia, and there’s some big conflict where China invades Taiwan,” Denison told me. “China could spin it as ‘Look at these American oligarchs!’ ” He wondered if the seizures of superyachts marked a growing political animus toward the very rich. “Whenever things are economically or politically disruptive,” he said, “it’s hard to justify taking an insane amount of money and just putting it into something that costs a lot to maintain, depreciates, and is only used for having a good time.”

Nobody pretends that a superyacht is a productive place to stash your wealth. In a column this spring headlined “ A SUPERYACHT IS A TERRIBLE ASSET ,” the Financial Times observed, “Owning a superyacht is like owning a stack of 10 Van Goghs, only you are holding them over your head as you tread water, trying to keep them dry.”

Not so long ago, status transactions among the élite were denominated in Old Masters and in the sculptures of the Italian Renaissance. Joseph Duveen, the dominant art dealer of the early twentieth century, kept the oligarchs of his day—Andrew Mellon, Jules Bache, J. P. Morgan—jockeying over Donatellos and Van Dycks. “When you pay high for the priceless,” he liked to say, “you’re getting it cheap.”

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In the nineteen-fifties, the height of aspirational style was fine French furniture—F.F.F., as it became known in certain precincts of Fifth Avenue and Palm Beach. Before long, more and more money was going airborne. Hugh Hefner, a pioneer in the private-jet era, decked out a plane he called Big Bunny, where he entertained Elvis Presley, Raquel Welch, and James Caan. The oil baron Armand Hammer circled the globe on his Boeing 727, paying bribes and recording evidence on microphones hidden in his cufflinks. But, once it seemed that every plutocrat had a plane, the thrill was gone.

In any case, an airplane is just transportation. A big ship is a floating manse, with a hierarchy written right into the nomenclature. If it has a crew working aboard, it’s a yacht. If it’s more than ninety-eight feet, it’s a superyacht. After that, definitions are debated, but people generally agree that anything more than two hundred and thirty feet is a megayacht, and more than two hundred and ninety-five is a gigayacht. The world contains about fifty-four hundred superyachts, and about a hundred gigayachts.

For the moment, a gigayacht is the most expensive item that our species has figured out how to own. In 2019, the hedge-fund billionaire Ken Griffin bought a quadruplex on Central Park South for two hundred and forty million dollars, the highest price ever paid for a home in America. In May, an unknown buyer spent about a hundred and ninety-five million on an Andy Warhol silk-screen portrait of Marilyn Monroe. In luxury-yacht terms, those are ordinary numbers. “There are a lot of boats in build well over two hundred and fifty million dollars,” Jamie Edmiston, a broker in Monaco and London, told me. His buyers are getting younger and more inclined to spend long stretches at sea. “High-speed Internet, telephony, modern communications have made working easier,” he said. “Plus, people made a lot more money earlier in life.”

A Silicon Valley C.E.O. told me that one appeal of boats is that they can “absorb the most excess capital.” He explained, “Rationally, it would seem to make sense for people to spend half a billion dollars on their house and then fifty million on the boat that they’re on for two weeks a year, right? But it’s gone the other way. People don’t want to live in a hundred-thousand-square-foot house. Optically, it’s weird. But a half-billion-dollar boat, actually, is quite nice.” Staluppi, of Palm Beach Gardens, is content to spend three or four times as much on his yachts as on his homes. Part of the appeal is flexibility. “If you’re on your boat and you don’t like your neighbor, you tell the captain, ‘Let’s go to a different place,’ ” he said. On land, escaping a bad neighbor requires more work: “You got to try and buy him out or make it uncomfortable or something.” The preference for sea-based investment has altered the proportions of taste. Until recently, the Silicon Valley C.E.O. said, “a fifty-metre boat was considered a good-sized boat. Now that would be a little bit embarrassing.” In the past twenty years, the length of the average luxury yacht has grown by a third, to a hundred and sixty feet.

Thorstein Veblen, the economist who published “The Theory of the Leisure Class,” in 1899, argued that the power of “conspicuous consumption” sprang not from artful finery but from sheer needlessness. “In order to be reputable,” he wrote, “it must be wasteful.” In the yachting world, stories circulate about exotic deliveries by helicopter or seaplane: Dom Pérignon, bagels from Zabar’s, sex workers, a rare melon from the island of Hokkaido. The industry excels at selling you things that you didn’t know you needed. When you flip through the yachting press, it’s easy to wonder how you’ve gone this long without a personal submarine, or a cryosauna that “blasts you with cold” down to minus one hundred and ten degrees Celsius, or the full menagerie of “exclusive leathers,” such as eel and stingray.

But these shrines to excess capital exist in a conditional state of visibility: they are meant to be unmistakable to a slender stratum of society—and all but unseen by everyone else. Even before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the yachting community was straining to manage its reputation as a gusher of carbon emissions (one well-stocked diesel yacht is estimated to produce as much greenhouse gas as fifteen hundred passenger cars), not to mention the fact that the world of white boats is overwhelmingly white. In a candid aside to a French documentarian, the American yachtsman Bill Duker said, “If the rest of the world learns what it’s like to live on a yacht like this, they’re gonna bring back the guillotine.” The Dutch press recently reported that Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon, was building a sailing yacht so tall that the city of Rotterdam might temporarily dismantle a bridge that had survived the Nazis in order to let the boat pass to the open sea. Rotterdammers were not pleased. On Facebook, a local man urged people to “take a box of rotten eggs with you and let’s throw them en masse at Jeff’s superyacht when it sails through.” At least thirteen thousand people expressed interest. Amid the uproar, a deputy mayor announced that the dismantling plan had been abandoned “for the time being.” (Bezos modelled his yacht partly on one owned by his friend Barry Diller, who has hosted him many times. The appreciation eventually extended to personnel, and Bezos hired one of Diller’s captains.)

As social media has heightened the scrutiny of extraordinary wealth, some of the very people who created those platforms have sought less observable places to spend it. But they occasionally indulge in some coded provocation. In 2006, when the venture capitalist Tom Perkins unveiled his boat in Istanbul, most passersby saw it adorned in colorful flags, but people who could read semaphore were able to make out a message: “Rarely does one have the privilege to witness vulgar ostentation displayed on such a scale.” As a longtime owner told me, “If you don’t have some guilt about it, you’re a rat.”

Alex Finley, a former C.I.A. officer who has seen yachts proliferate near her home in Barcelona, has weighed the superyacht era and its discontents in writings and on Twitter, using the hashtag #YachtWatch. “To me, the yachts are not just yachts,” she told me. “In Russia’s case, these are the embodiment of oligarchs helping a dictator destabilize our democracy while utilizing our democracy to their benefit.” But, Finley added, it’s a mistake to think the toxic symbolism applies only to Russia. “The yachts tell a whole story about a Faustian capitalism—this idea that we’re ready to sell democracy for short-term profit,” she said. “They’re registered offshore. They use every loophole that we’ve put in place for illicit money and tax havens. So they play a role in this battle, writ large, between autocracy and democracy.”

After a morning on the docks at the Palm Beach show, I headed to a more secluded marina nearby, which had been set aside for what an attendant called “the really big hardware.” It felt less like a trade show than like a boutique resort, with a swimming pool and a terrace restaurant. Kevin Merrigan, a relaxed Californian with horn-rimmed glasses and a high forehead pinked by the sun, was waiting for me at the stern of Unbridled, a superyacht with a brilliant blue hull that gave it the feel of a personal cruise ship. He invited me to the bridge deck, where a giant screen showed silent video of dolphins at play.

Merrigan is the chairman of the brokerage Northrop & Johnson, which has ridden the tide of growing boats and wealth since 1949. Lounging on a sofa mounded with throw pillows, he projected a nearly postcoital level of contentment. He had recently sold the boat we were on, accepted an offer for a behemoth beside us, and begun negotiating the sale of yet another. “This client owns three big yachts,” he said. “It’s a hobby for him. We’re at a hundred and ninety-one feet now, and last night he said, ‘You know, what do you think about getting a two hundred and fifty?’ ” Merrigan laughed. “And I was, like, ‘Can’t you just have dinner?’ ”

Among yacht owners, there are some unwritten rules of stratification: a Dutch-built boat will hold its value better than an Italian; a custom design will likely get more respect than a “series yacht”; and, if you want to disparage another man’s boat, say that it looks like a wedding cake. But, in the end, nothing says as much about a yacht, or its owner, as the delicate matter of L.O.A.—length over all.

The imperative is not usually length for length’s sake (though the longtime owner told me that at times there is an aspect of “phallic sizing”). “L.O.A.” is a byword for grandeur. In most cases, pleasure yachts are permitted to carry no more than twelve passengers, a rule set by the International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea, which was conceived after the sinking of the Titanic. But those limits do not apply to crew. “So, you might have anything between twelve and fifty crew looking after those twelve guests,” Edmiston, the broker, said. “It’s a level of service you cannot really contemplate until you’ve been fortunate enough to experience it.”

As yachts have grown more capacious, and the limits on passengers have not, more and more space on board has been devoted to staff and to novelties. The latest fashions include IMAX theatres, hospital equipment that tests for dozens of pathogens, and ski rooms where guests can suit up for a helicopter trip to a mountaintop. The longtime owner, who had returned the previous day from his yacht, told me, “No one today—except for assholes and ridiculous people—lives on land in what you would call a deep and broad luxe life. Yes, people have nice houses and all of that, but it’s unlikely that the ratio of staff to them is what it is on a boat.” After a moment, he added, “Boats are the last place that I think you can get away with it.”

Even among the truly rich, there is a gap between the haves and the have-yachts. One boating guest told me about a conversation with a famous friend who keeps one of the world’s largest yachts. “He said, ‘The boat is the last vestige of what real wealth can do.’ What he meant is, You have a chef, and I have a chef. You have a driver, and I have a driver. You can fly privately, and I fly privately. So, the one place where I can make clear to the world that I am in a different fucking category than you is the boat.”

After Merrigan and I took a tour of Unbridled, he led me out to a waiting tender, staffed by a crew member with an earpiece on a coil. The tender, Merrigan said, would ferry me back to the busy main dock of the Palm Beach show. We bounced across the waves under a pristine sky, and pulled into the marina, where my fellow-gawkers were still trying to talk their way past the greeters. As I walked back into the scrum, Namasté was still there, but it looked smaller than I remembered.

For owners and their guests, a white boat provides a discreet marketplace for the exchange of trust, patronage, and validation. To diagram the precise workings of that trade—the customs and anxieties, strategies and slights—I talked to Brendan O’Shannassy, a veteran captain who is a curator of white-boat lore. Raised in Western Australia, O’Shannassy joined the Navy as a young man, and eventually found his way to skippering some of the world’s biggest yachts. He has worked for Paul Allen, the late co-founder of Microsoft, along with a few other billionaires he declines to name. Now in his early fifties, with patient green eyes and tufts of curly brown hair, O’Shannassy has had a vantage from which to monitor the social traffic. “It’s all gracious, and everyone’s kiss-kiss,” he said. “But there’s a lot going on in the background.”

O’Shannassy once worked for an owner who limited the number of newspapers on board, so that he could watch his guests wait and squirm. “It was a mind game amongst the billionaires. There were six couples, and three newspapers,” he said, adding, “They were ranking themselves constantly.” On some boats, O’Shannassy has found himself playing host in the awkward minutes after guests arrive. “A lot of them are savants, but some are very un-socially aware,” he said. “They need someone to be social and charming for them.” Once everyone settles in, O’Shannassy has learned, there is often a subtle shift, when a mogul or a politician or a pop star starts to loosen up in ways that are rarely possible on land. “Your security is relaxed—they’re not on your hip,” he said. “You’re not worried about paparazzi. So you’ve got all this extra space, both mental and physical.”

O’Shannassy has come to see big boats as a space where powerful “solar systems” converge and combine. “It is implicit in every interaction that their sharing of information will benefit both parties; it is an obsession with billionaires to do favours for each other. A referral, an introduction, an insight—it all matters,” he wrote in “Superyacht Captain,” a new memoir. A guest told O’Shannassy that, after a lavish display of hospitality, he finally understood the business case for buying a boat. “One deal secured on board will pay it all back many times over,” the guest said, “and it is pretty hard to say no after your kids have been hosted so well for a week.”

Take the case of David Geffen, the former music and film executive. He is long retired, but he hosts friends (and potential friends) on the four-hundred-and-fifty-four-foot Rising Sun, which has a double-height cinema, a spa and salon, and a staff of fifty-seven. In 2017, shortly after Barack and Michelle Obama departed the White House, they were photographed on Geffen’s boat in French Polynesia, accompanied by Bruce Springsteen, Oprah Winfrey, Tom Hanks, and Rita Wilson. For Geffen, the boat keeps him connected to the upper echelons of power. There are wealthier Americans, but not many of them have a boat so delectable that it can induce both a Democratic President and the workingman’s crooner to risk the aroma of hypocrisy.

The binding effect pays dividends for guests, too. Once people reach a certain level of fame, they tend to conclude that its greatest advantage is access. Spend a week at sea together, lingering over meals, observing one another floundering on a paddleboard, and you have something of value for years to come. Call to ask for an investment, an introduction, an internship for a wayward nephew, and you’ll at least get the call returned. It’s a mutually reinforcing circle of validation: she’s here, I’m here, we’re here.

But, if you want to get invited back, you are wise to remember your part of the bargain. If you work with movie stars, bring fresh gossip. If you’re on Wall Street, bring an insight or two. Don’t make the transaction obvious, but don’t forget why you’re there. “When I see the guest list,” O’Shannassy wrote, “I am aware, even if not all names are familiar, that all have been chosen for a purpose.”

For O’Shannassy, there is something comforting about the status anxieties of people who have everything. He recalled a visit to the Italian island of Sardinia, where his employer asked him for a tour of the boats nearby. Riding together on a tender, they passed one colossus after another, some twice the size of the owner’s superyacht. Eventually, the man cut the excursion short. “Take me back to my yacht, please,” he said. They motored in silence for a while. “There was a time when my yacht was the most beautiful in the bay,” he said at last. “How do I keep up with this new money?”

The summer season in the Mediterranean cranks up in May, when the really big hardware heads east from Florida and the Caribbean to escape the coming hurricanes, and reconvenes along the coasts of France, Italy, and Spain. At the center is the Principality of Monaco, the sun-washed tax haven that calls itself the “world’s capital of advanced yachting.” In Monaco, which is among the richest countries on earth, superyachts bob in the marina like bath toys.

The nearest hotel room at a price that would not get me fired was an Airbnb over the border with France. But an acquaintance put me on the phone with the Yacht Club de Monaco, a members-only establishment created by the late monarch His Serene Highness Prince Rainier III, whom the Web site describes as “a true visionary in every respect.” The club occasionally rents rooms—“cabins,” as they’re called—to visitors in town on yacht-related matters. Claudia Batthyany, the elegant director of special projects, showed me to my cabin and later explained that the club does not aspire to be a hotel. “We are an association ,” she said. “Otherwise, it becomes”—she gave a gentle wince—“not that exclusive.”

Inside my cabin, I quickly came to understand that I would never be fully satisfied anywhere else again. The space was silent and aromatically upscale, bathed in soft sunlight that swept through a wall of glass overlooking the water. If I was getting a sudden rush of the onboard experience, that was no accident. The clubhouse was designed by the British architect Lord Norman Foster to evoke the opulent indulgence of ocean liners of the interwar years, like the Queen Mary. I found a handwritten welcome note, on embossed club stationery, set alongside an orchid and an assemblage of chocolate truffles: “The whole team remains at your entire disposal to make your stay a wonderful experience. Yours sincerely, Service Members.” I saluted the nameless Service Members, toiling for the comfort of their guests. Looking out at the water, I thought, intrusively, of a line from Santiago, Hemingway’s old man of the sea. “Do not think about sin,” he told himself. “It is much too late for that and there are people who are paid to do it.”

I had been assured that the Service Members would cheerfully bring dinner, as they might on board, but I was eager to see more of my surroundings. I consulted the club’s summer dress code. It called for white trousers and a blue blazer, and it discouraged improvisation: “No pocket handkerchief is to be worn above the top breast-pocket bearing the Club’s coat of arms.” The handkerchief rule seemed navigable, but I did not possess white trousers, so I skirted the lobby and took refuge in the bar. At a table behind me, a man with flushed cheeks and a British accent had a head start. “You’re a shitty negotiator,” he told another man, with a laugh. “Maybe sales is not your game.” A few seats away, an American woman was explaining to a foreign friend how to talk with conservatives: “If they say, ‘The earth is flat,’ you say, ‘Well, I’ve sailed around it, so I’m not so sure about that.’ ”

In the morning, I had an appointment for coffee with Gaëlle Tallarida, the managing director of the Monaco Yacht Show, which the Daily Mail has called the “most shamelessly ostentatious display of yachts in the world.” Tallarida was not born to that milieu; she grew up on the French side of the border, swimming at public beaches with a view of boats sailing from the marina. But she had a knack for highly organized spectacle. While getting a business degree, she worked on a student theatre festival and found it thrilling. Afterward, she got a job in corporate events, and in 1998 she was hired at the yacht show as a trainee.

With this year’s show five months off, Tallarida was already getting calls about what she described as “the most complex part of my work”: deciding which owners get the most desirable spots in the marina. “As you can imagine, they’ve got very big egos,” she said. “On top of that, I’m a woman. They are sometimes arriving and saying”—she pointed into the distance, pantomiming a decree—“ ‘O.K., I want that!  ’ ”

Just about everyone wants his superyacht to be viewed from the side, so that its full splendor is visible. Most harbors, however, have a limited number of berths with a side view; in Monaco, there are only twelve, with prime spots arrayed along a concrete dike across from the club. “We reserve the dike for the biggest yachts,” Tallarida said. But try telling that to a man who blew his fortune on a small superyacht.

Whenever possible, Tallarida presents her verdicts as a matter of safety: the layout must insure that “in case of an emergency, any boat can go out.” If owners insist on preferential placement, she encourages a yachting version of the Golden Rule: “What if, next year, I do that to you? Against you?”

Does that work? I asked. She shrugged. “They say, ‘Eh.’ ” Some would gladly risk being a victim next year in order to be a victor now. In the most awful moment of her career, she said, a man who was unhappy with his berth berated her face to face. “I was in the office, feeling like a little girl, with my daddy shouting at me. I said, ‘O.K., O.K., I’m going to give you the spot.’ ”

Securing just the right place, it must be said, carries value. Back at the yacht club, I was on my terrace, enjoying the latest delivery by the Service Members—an airy French omelette and a glass of preternaturally fresh orange juice. I thought guiltily of my wife, at home with our kids, who had sent a text overnight alerting me to a maintenance issue that she described as “a toilet debacle.”

Then I was distracted by the sight of a man on a yacht in the marina below. He was staring up at me. I went back to my brunch, but, when I looked again, there he was—a middle-aged man, on a mid-tier yacht, juiceless, on a greige banquette, staring up at my perfect terrace. A surprising sensation started in my chest and moved outward like a warm glow: the unmistakable pang of superiority.

That afternoon, I made my way to the bar, to meet the yacht club’s general secretary, Bernard d’Alessandri, for a history lesson. The general secretary was up to code: white trousers, blue blazer, club crest over the heart. He has silver hair, black eyebrows, and a tan that evokes high-end leather. “I was a sailing teacher before this,” he said, and gestured toward the marina. “It was not like this. It was a village.”

Before there were yacht clubs, there were jachten , from the Dutch word for “hunt.” In the seventeenth century, wealthy residents of Amsterdam created fast-moving boats to meet incoming cargo ships before they hit port, in order to check out the merchandise. Soon, the Dutch owners were racing one another, and yachting spread across Europe. After a visit to Holland in 1697, Peter the Great returned to Russia with a zeal for pleasure craft, and he later opened Nevsky Flot, one of the world’s first yacht clubs, in St. Petersburg.

For a while, many of the biggest yachts were symbols of state power. In 1863, the viceroy of Egypt, Isma’il Pasha, ordered up a steel leviathan called El Mahrousa, which was the world’s longest yacht for a remarkable hundred and nineteen years, until the title was claimed by King Fahd of Saudi Arabia. In the United States, Franklin Delano Roosevelt received guests aboard the U.S.S. Potomac, which had a false smokestack containing a hidden elevator, so that the President could move by wheelchair between decks.

But yachts were finding new patrons outside politics. In 1954, the Greek shipping baron Aristotle Onassis bought a Canadian Navy frigate and spent four million dollars turning it into Christina O, which served as his home for months on end—and, at various times, as a home to his companions Maria Callas, Greta Garbo, and Jacqueline Kennedy. Christina O had its flourishes—a Renoir in the master suite, a swimming pool with a mosaic bottom that rose to become a dance floor—but none were more distinctive than the appointments in the bar, which included whales’ teeth carved into pornographic scenes from the Odyssey and stools upholstered in whale foreskins.

For Onassis, the extraordinary investments in Christina O were part of an epic tit for tat with his archrival, Stavros Niarchos, a fellow shipping tycoon, which was so entrenched that it continued even after Onassis’s death, in 1975. Six years later, Niarchos launched a yacht fifty-five feet longer than Christina O: Atlantis II, which featured a swimming pool on a gyroscope so that the water would not slosh in heavy seas. Atlantis II, now moored in Monaco, sat before the general secretary and me as we talked.

Over the years, d’Alessandri had watched waves of new buyers arrive from one industry after another. “First, it was the oil. After, it was the telecommunications. Now, they are making money with crypto,” he said. “And, each time, it’s another size of the boat, another design.” What began as symbols of state power had come to represent more diffuse aristocracies—the fortunes built on carbon, capital, and data that migrated across borders. As early as 1908, the English writer G. K. Chesterton wondered what the big boats foretold of a nation’s fabric. “The poor man really has a stake in the country,” he wrote. “The rich man hasn’t; he can go away to New Guinea in a yacht.”

Each iteration of fortune left its imprint on the industry. Sheikhs, who tend to cruise in the world’s hottest places, wanted baroque indoor spaces and were uninterested in sundecks. Silicon Valley favored acres of beige, more Sonoma than Saudi. And buyers from Eastern Europe became so abundant that shipyards perfected the onboard banya , a traditional Russian sauna stocked with birch and eucalyptus. The collapse of the Soviet Union, in 1991, had minted a generation of new billionaires, whose approach to money inspired a popular Russian joke: One oligarch brags to another, “Look at this new tie. It cost me two hundred bucks!” To which the other replies, “You moron. You could’ve bought the same one for a thousand!”

In 1998, around the time that the Russian economy imploded, the young tycoon Roman Abramovich reportedly bought a secondhand yacht called Sussurro—Italian for “whisper”—which had been so carefully engineered for speed that each individual screw was weighed before installation. Soon, Russians were competing to own the costliest ships. “If the most expensive yacht in the world was small, they would still want it,” Maria Pevchikh, a Russian investigator who helps lead the Anti-Corruption Foundation, told me.

In 2008, a thirty-six-year-old industrialist named Andrey Melnichenko spent some three hundred million dollars on Motor Yacht A, a radical experiment conceived by the French designer Philippe Starck, with a dagger-shaped hull and a bulbous tower topped by a master bedroom set on a turntable that pivots to capture the best view. The shape was ridiculed as “a giant finger pointing at you” and “one of the most hideous vessels ever to sail,” but it marked a new prominence for Russian money at sea. Today, post-Soviet élites are thought to own a fifth of the world’s gigayachts.

Even Putin has signalled his appreciation, being photographed on yachts in the Black Sea resort of Sochi. In an explosive report in 2012, Boris Nemtsov, a former Deputy Prime Minister, accused Putin of amassing a storehouse of outrageous luxuries, including four yachts, twenty homes, and dozens of private aircraft. Less than three years later, Nemtsov was fatally shot while crossing a bridge near the Kremlin. The Russian government, which officially reports that Putin collects a salary of about a hundred and forty thousand dollars and possesses a modest apartment in Moscow, denied any involvement.

Many of the largest, most flamboyant gigayachts are designed in Monaco, at a sleek waterfront studio occupied by the naval architect Espen Øino. At sixty, Øino has a boyish mop and the mild countenance of a country parson. He grew up in a small town in Norway, the heir to a humble maritime tradition. “My forefathers built wooden rowing boats for four generations,” he told me. In the late eighties, he was designing sailboats when his firm won a commission to design a megayacht for Emilio Azcárraga, the autocratic Mexican who built Televisa into the world’s largest Spanish-language broadcaster. Azcárraga was nicknamed El Tigre, for his streak of white hair and his comfort with confrontation; he kept a chair in his office that was unusually high off the ground, so that visitors’ feet dangled like children’s.

In early meetings, Øino recalled, Azcárraga grew frustrated that the ideas were not dazzling enough. “You must understand,” he said. “I don’t go to port very often with my boats, but, when I do, I want my presence to be felt.”

The final design was suitably arresting; after the boat was completed, Øino had no shortage of commissions. In 1998, he was approached by Paul Allen, of Microsoft, to build a yacht that opened the way for the Goliaths that followed. The result, called Octopus, was so large that it contained a submarine marina in its belly, as well as a helicopter hangar that could be converted into an outdoor performance space. Mick Jagger and Bono played on occasion. I asked Øino why owners obsessed with secrecy seem determined to build the world’s most conspicuous machines. He compared it to a luxury car with tinted windows. “People can’t see you, but you’re still in that expensive, impressive thing,” he said. “We all need to feel that we’re important in one way or another.”

In recent months, Øino has seen some of his creations detained by governments in the sanctions campaign. When we spoke, he condemned the news coverage. “Yacht equals Russian equals evil equals money,” he said disdainfully. “It’s a bit tragic, because the yachts have become synonymous with the bad guys in a James Bond movie.”

What about Scheherazade, the giant yacht that U.S. officials have alleged is held by a Russian businessman for Putin’s use? Øino, who designed the ship, rejected the idea. “We have designed two yachts for heads of state, and I can tell you that they’re completely different, in terms of the layout and everything, from Scheherazade.” He meant that the details said plutocrat, not autocrat.

For the time being, Scheherazade and other Øino creations under detention across Europe have entered a strange legal purgatory. As lawyers for the owners battle to keep the ships from being permanently confiscated, local governments are duty-bound to maintain them until a resolution is reached. In a comment recorded by a hot mike in June, Jake Sullivan, the U.S. national-security adviser, marvelled that “people are basically being paid to maintain Russian superyachts on behalf of the United States government.” (It usually costs about ten per cent of a yacht’s construction price to keep it afloat each year. In May, officials in Fiji complained that a detained yacht was costing them more than a hundred and seventy-one thousand dollars a day.)

Stranger still are the Russian yachts on the lam. Among them is Melnichenko’s much maligned Motor Yacht A. On March 9th, Melnichenko was sanctioned by the European Union, and although he denied having close ties to Russia’s leadership, Italy seized one of his yachts—a six-hundred-million-dollar sailboat. But Motor Yacht A slipped away before anyone could grab it. Then the boat turned off the transponder required by international maritime rules, so that its location could no longer be tracked. The last ping was somewhere near the Maldives, before it went dark on the high seas.

The very largest yachts come from Dutch and German shipyards, which have experience in naval vessels, known as “gray boats.” But the majority of superyachts are built in Italy, partly because owners prefer to visit the Mediterranean during construction. (A British designer advises those who are weighing their choices to take the geography seriously, “unless you like schnitzel.”)

In the past twenty-two years, nobody has built more superyachts than the Vitellis, an Italian family whose patriarch, Paolo Vitelli, got his start in the seventies, manufacturing smaller boats near a lake in the mountains. By 1985, their company, Azimut, had grown large enough to buy the Benetti shipyards, which had been building enormous yachts since the nineteenth century. Today, the combined company builds its largest boats near the sea, but the family still works in the hill town of Avigliana, where a medieval monastery towers above a valley. When I visited in April, Giovanna Vitelli, the vice-president and the founder’s daughter, led me through the experience of customizing a yacht.

“We’re using more and more virtual reality,” she said, and a staffer fitted me with a headset. When the screen blinked on, I was inside a 3-D mockup of a yacht that is not yet on the market. I wandered around my suite for a while, checking out swivel chairs, a modish sideboard, blond wood panelling on the walls. It was convincing enough that I collided with a real-life desk.

After we finished with the headset, it was time to pick the décor. The industry encourages an introspective evaluation: What do you want your yacht to say about you? I was handed a vibrant selection of wood, marble, leather, and carpet. The choices felt suddenly grave. Was I cut out for the chiselled look of Cream Vesuvio, or should I accept that I’m a gray Cardoso Stone? For carpets, I liked the idea of Chablis Corn White—Paris and the prairie, together at last. But, for extra seating, was it worth splurging for the V.I.P. Vanity Pouf?

Some designs revolve around a single piece of art. The most expensive painting ever sold, Leonardo da Vinci’s “Salvator Mundi,” reportedly was hung on the Saudi crown prince Mohammed bin Salman’s four-hundred-and-thirty-nine-foot yacht Serene, after the Louvre rejected a Saudi demand that it hang next to the “Mona Lisa.” Art conservators blanched at the risks that excess humidity and fluctuating temperatures could pose to a five-hundred-year-old painting. Often, collectors who want to display masterpieces at sea commission replicas.

If you’ve just put half a billion dollars into a boat, you may have qualms about the truism that material things bring less happiness than experiences do. But this, too, can be finessed. Andrew Grant Super, a co-founder of the “experiential yachting” firm Berkeley Rand, told me that he served a uniquely overstimulated clientele: “We call them the bored billionaires.” He outlined a few of his experience products. “We can plot half of the Pacific Ocean with coördinates, to map out the Battle of Midway,” he said. “We re-create the full-blown battles of the giant ships from America and Japan. The kids have haptic guns and haptic vests. We put the smell of cordite and cannon fire on board, pumping around them.” For those who aren’t soothed by the scent of cordite, Super offered an alternative. “We fly 3-D-printed, architectural freestanding restaurants into the middle of the Maldives, on a sand shelf that can only last another eight hours before it disappears.”

For some, the thrill lies in the engineering. Staluppi, born in Brooklyn, was an auto mechanic who had no experience with the sea until his boss asked him to soup up a boat. “I took the six-cylinder engines out and put V-8 engines in,” he recalled. Once he started commissioning boats of his own, he built scale models to conduct tests in water tanks. “I knew I could never have the biggest boat in the world, so I says, ‘You know what? I want to build the fastest yacht in the world.’ The Aga Khan had the fastest yacht, and we just blew right by him.”

In Italy, after decking out my notional yacht, I headed south along the coast, to Tuscan shipyards that have evolved with each turn in the country’s history. Close to the Carrara quarries, which yielded the marble that Michelangelo turned into David, ships were constructed in the nineteenth century, to transport giant blocks of stone. Down the coast, the yards in Livorno made warships under the Fascists, until they were bombed by the Allies. Later, they began making and refitting luxury yachts. Inside the front gate of a Benetti shipyard in Livorno, a set of models depicted the firm’s famous modern creations. Most notable was the megayacht Nabila, built in 1980 for the high-living arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi, with a hundred rooms and a disco that was the site of legendary decadence. (Khashoggi’s budget for prostitution was so extravagant that a French prosecutor later estimated he paid at least half a million dollars to a single madam in a single year.)

In 1987, shortly before Khashoggi was indicted for mail fraud and obstruction of justice (he was eventually acquitted), the yacht was sold to the real-estate developer Donald Trump, who renamed it Trump Princess. Trump was never comfortable on a boat—“Couldn’t get off fast enough,” he once said—but he liked to impress people with his yacht’s splendor. In 1991, while three billion dollars in debt, Trump ceded the vessel to creditors. Later in life, though, he discovered enthusiastic support among what he called “our beautiful boaters,” and he came to see quality watercraft as a mark of virtue—a way of beating the so-called élite. “We got better houses, apartments, we got nicer boats, we’re smarter than they are,” he told a crowd in Fargo, North Dakota. “Let’s call ourselves, from now on, the super-élite.”

In the age of oversharing, yachts are a final sanctum of secrecy, even for some of the world’s most inveterate talkers. Oprah, after returning from her sojourn with the Obamas, rebuffed questions from reporters. “What happens on the boat stays on the boat,” she said. “We talked, and everybody else did a lot of paddleboarding.”

I interviewed six American superyacht owners at length, and almost all insisted on anonymity or held forth with stupefying blandness. “Great family time,” one said. Another confessed, “It’s really hard to talk about it without being ridiculed.” None needed to be reminded of David Geffen’s misadventure during the early weeks of the pandemic, when he Instagrammed a photo of his yacht in the Grenadines and posted that he was “avoiding the virus” and “hoping everybody is staying safe.” It drew thousands of responses, many marked #EatTheRich, others summoning a range of nautical menaces: “At least the pirates have his location now.”

The yachts extend a tradition of seclusion as the ultimate luxury. The Medici, in sixteenth-century Florence, built elevated passageways, or corridoi , high over the city to escape what a scholar called the “clash of classes, the randomness, the smells and confusions” of pedestrian life below. More recently, owners of prized town houses in London have headed in the other direction, building three-story basements so vast that their construction can require mining engineers—a trend that researchers in the United Kingdom named “luxified troglodytism.”

Water conveys a particular autonomy, whether it’s ringing the foot of a castle or separating a private island from the mainland. Peter Thiel, the billionaire venture capitalist, gave startup funding to the Seasteading Institute, a nonprofit group co-founded by Milton Friedman’s grandson, which seeks to create floating mini-states—an endeavor that Thiel considered part of his libertarian project to “escape from politics in all its forms.” Until that fantasy is realized, a white boat can provide a start. A recent feature in Boat International , a glossy trade magazine, noted that the new hundred-and-twenty-five-million-dollar megayacht Victorious has four generators and “six months’ autonomy” at sea. The builder, Vural Ak, explained, “In case of emergency, god forbid, you can live in open water without going to shore and keep your food stored, make your water from the sea.”

Much of the time, superyachts dwell beyond the reach of ordinary law enforcement. They cruise in international waters, and, when they dock, local cops tend to give them a wide berth; the boats often have private security, and their owners may well be friends with the Prime Minister. According to leaked documents known as the Paradise Papers, handlers proposed that the Saudi crown prince take delivery of a four-hundred-and-twenty-million-dollar yacht in “international waters in the western Mediterranean,” where the sale could avoid taxes.

Builders and designers rarely advertise beyond the trade press, and they scrupulously avoid leaks. At Lürssen, a German shipbuilding firm, projects are described internally strictly by reference number and code name. “We are not in the business for the glory,” Peter Lürssen, the C.E.O., told a reporter. The closest thing to an encyclopedia of yacht ownership is a site called SuperYachtFan, run by a longtime researcher who identifies himself only as Peter, with a disclaimer that he relies partly on “rumors” but makes efforts to confirm them. In an e-mail, he told me that he studies shell companies, navigation routes, paparazzi photos, and local media in various languages to maintain a database with more than thirteen hundred supposed owners. Some ask him to remove their names, but he thinks that members of that economic echelon should regard the attention as a “fact of life.”

To work in the industry, staff must adhere to the culture of secrecy, often enforced by N.D.A.s. On one yacht, O’Shannassy, the captain, learned to communicate in code with the helicopter pilot who regularly flew the owner from Switzerland to the Mediterranean. Before takeoff, the pilot would call with a cryptic report on whether the party included the presence of a Pomeranian. If any guest happened to overhear, their cover story was that a customs declaration required details about pets. In fact, the lapdog was a constant companion of the owner’s wife; if the Pomeranian was in the helicopter, so was she. “If no dog was in the helicopter,” O’Shannassy recalled, the owner was bringing “somebody else.” It was the captain’s duty to rebroadcast the news across the yacht’s internal radio: “Helicopter launched, no dog, I repeat no dog today”—the signal for the crew to ready the main cabin for the mistress, instead of the wife. They swapped out dresses, family photos, bathroom supplies, favored drinks in the fridge. On one occasion, the code got garbled, and the helicopter landed with an unanticipated Pomeranian. Afterward, the owner summoned O’Shannassy and said, “Brendan, I hope you never have such a situation, but if you do I recommend making sure the correct dresses are hanging when your wife comes into your room.”

In the hierarchy on board a yacht, the most delicate duties tend to trickle down to the least powerful. Yacht crew—yachties, as they’re known—trade manual labor and obedience for cash and adventure. On a well-staffed boat, the “interior team” operates at a forensic level of detail: they’ll use Q-tips to polish the rim of your toilet, tweezers to lift your fried-chicken crumbs from the teak, a toothbrush to clean the treads of your staircase.

Many are English-speaking twentysomethings, who find work by doing the “dock walk,” passing out résumés at marinas. The deals can be alluring: thirty-five hundred dollars a month for deckhands; fifty thousand dollars in tips for a decent summer in the Med. For captains, the size of the boat matters—they tend to earn about a thousand dollars per foot per year.

Yachties are an attractive lot, a community of the toned and chipper, which does not happen by chance; their résumés circulate with head shots. Before Andy Cohen was a talk-show host, he was the head of production and development at Bravo, where he green-lighted a reality show about a yacht crew: “It’s a total pressure cooker, and they’re actually living together while they’re working. Oh, and by the way, half of them are having sex with each other. What’s not going to be a hit about that?” The result, the gleefully seamy “Below Deck,” has been among the network’s top-rated shows for nearly a decade.

To stay in the business, captains and crew must absorb varying degrees of petty tyranny. An owner once gave O’Shannassy “a verbal beating” for failing to negotiate a lower price on champagne flutes etched with the yacht’s logo. In such moments, the captain responds with a deferential mantra: “There is no excuse. Your instruction was clear. I can only endeavor to make it better for next time.”

The job comes with perilously little protection. A big yacht is effectively a corporation with a rigid hierarchy and no H.R. department. In recent years, the industry has fielded increasingly outspoken complaints about sexual abuse, toxic impunity, and a disregard for mental health. A 2018 survey by the International Seafarers’ Welfare and Assistance Network found that more than half of the women who work as yacht crew had experienced harassment, discrimination, or bullying on board. More than four-fifths of the men and women surveyed reported low morale.

Karine Rayson worked on yachts for four years, rising to the position of “chief stew,” or stewardess. Eventually, she found herself “thinking of business ideas while vacuuming,” and tiring of the culture of entitlement. She recalled an episode in the Maldives when “a guest took a Jet Ski and smashed into a marine reserve. That damaged the coral, and broke his Jet Ski, so he had to clamber over the rocks and find his way to the shore. It was a private hotel, and the security got him and said, ‘Look, there’s a large fine, you have to pay.’ He said, ‘Don’t worry, the boat will pay for it.’ ” Rayson went back to school and became a psychotherapist. After a period of counselling inmates in maximum-security prisons, she now works with yacht crew, who meet with her online from around the world.

Rayson’s clients report a range of scenarios beyond the boundaries of ordinary employment: guests who did so much cocaine that they had no appetite for a chef’s meals; armed men who raided a boat offshore and threatened to take crew members to another country; owners who vowed that if a young stew told anyone about abuse she suffered on board they’d call in the Mafia and “skin me alive.” Bound by N.D.A.s, crew at sea have little recourse.“We were paranoid that our e-mails were being reviewed, or we were getting bugged,” Rayson said.

She runs an “exit strategy” course to help crew find jobs when they’re back on land. The adjustment isn’t easy, she said: “You’re getting paid good money to clean a toilet. So, when you take your C.V. to land-based employers, they might question your skill set.” Despite the stresses of yachting work, Rayson said, “a lot of them struggle with integration into land-based life, because they have all their bills paid for them, so they don’t pay for food. They don’t pay for rent. It’s a huge shock.”

It doesn’t take long at sea to learn that nothing is too rich to rust. The ocean air tarnishes metal ten times as fast as on land; saltwater infiltrates from below. Left untouched, a single corroding ulcer will puncture tanks, seize a motor, even collapse a hull. There are tricks, of course—shield sensitive parts with resin, have your staff buff away blemishes—but you can insulate a machine from its surroundings for only so long.

Hang around the superyacht world for a while and you see the metaphor everywhere. Four months after Putin’s invasion of Ukraine, the war had eaten a hole in his myths of competence. The Western campaign to isolate him and his oligarchs was proving more durable than most had predicted. Even if the seizures of yachts were mired in legal disputes, Finley, the former C.I.A. officer, saw them as a vital “pressure point.” She said, “The oligarchs supported Putin because he provided stable authoritarianism, and he can no longer guarantee that stability. And that’s when you start to have cracks.”

For all its profits from Russian clients, the yachting industry was unsentimental. Brokers stripped photos of Russian yachts from their Web sites; Lürssen, the German builder, sent questionnaires to clients asking who, exactly, they were. Business was roaring, and, if some Russians were cast out of the have-yachts, other buyers would replace them.

On a cloudless morning in Viareggio, a Tuscan town that builds almost a fifth of the world’s superyachts, a family of first-time owners from Tel Aviv made the final, fraught preparations. Down by the docks, their new boat was suspended above the water on slings, ready to be lowered for its official launch. The scene was set for a ceremony: white flags in the wind, a plexiglass lectern. It felt like the obverse of the dockside scrum at the Palm Beach show; by this point in the buying process, nobody was getting vetted through binoculars. Waitresses handed out glasses of wine. The yacht venders were in suits, but the new owners were in upscale Euro casual: untucked linen, tight jeans, twelve-hundred-dollar Prada sneakers. The family declined to speak to me (and the company declined to identify them). They had come asking for a smaller boat, but the sales staff had talked them up to a hundred and eleven feet. The Victorians would have been impressed.

The C.E.O. of Azimut Benetti, Marco Valle, was in a buoyant mood. “Sun. Breeze. Perfect day to launch a boat, right?” he told the owners. He applauded them for taking the “first step up the big staircase.” The selling of the next vessel had already begun.

Hanging aloft, their yacht looked like an artifact in the making; it was easy to imagine a future civilization sifting the sediment and discovering that an earlier society had engaged in a building spree of sumptuous arks, with accommodations for dozens of servants but only a few lucky passengers, plus the occasional Pomeranian.

We approached the hull, where a bottle of spumante hung from a ribbon in Italian colors. Two members of the family pulled back the bottle and slung it against the yacht. It bounced off and failed to shatter. “Oh, that’s bad luck,” a woman murmured beside me. Tales of that unhappy omen abound. In one memorable case, the bottle failed to break on Zaca, a schooner that belonged to Errol Flynn. In the years that followed, the crew mutinied and the boat sank; after being re-floated, it became the setting for Flynn’s descent into cocaine, alcohol, orgies, and drug smuggling. When Flynn died, new owners brought in an archdeacon for an onboard exorcism.

In the present case, the bottle broke on the second hit, and confetti rained down. As the family crowded around their yacht for photos, I asked Valle, the C.E.O., about the shortage of new boats. “Twenty-six years I’ve been in the nautical business—never been like this,” he said. He couldn’t hire enough welders and carpenters. “I don’t know for how long it will last, but we’ll try to get the profits right now.”

Whatever comes, the white-boat world is preparing to insure future profits, too. In recent years, big builders and brokers have sponsored a rebranding campaign dedicated to “improving the perception of superyachting.” (Among its recommendations: fewer ads with girls in bikinis and high heels.) The goal is partly to defuse #EatTheRich, but mostly it is to soothe skittish buyers. Even the dramatic increase in yacht ownership has not kept up with forecasts of the global growth in billionaires—a disparity that represents the “one dark cloud we can see on the horizon,” as Øino, the naval architect, said during an industry talk in Norway. He warned his colleagues that they needed to reach those “potential yacht owners who, for some reason, have decided not to step up to the plate.”

But, to a certain kind of yacht buyer, even aggressive scrutiny can feel like an advertisement—a reminder that, with enough access and cash, you can ride out almost any storm. In April, weeks after the fugitive Motor Yacht A went silent, it was rediscovered in physical form, buffed to a shine and moored along a creek in the United Arab Emirates. The owner, Melnichenko, had been sanctioned by the E.U., Switzerland, Australia, and the U.K. Yet the Emirates had rejected requests to join those sanctions and had become a favored wartime haven for Russian money. Motor Yacht A was once again arrayed in almost plain sight, like semaphore flags in the wind. ♦

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